


You fill me up, you fill me up, you set my soul ablaze

by TotemundTabu



Series: 30 THROBB SMUTS [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cheating, Declarations Of Love, Dom Robb Stark, Heresy, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, Light Dom/sub, Love Poems, Name-Calling, Period-Typical Homophobia, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sub Theon Greyjoy, Top Robb Stark, sacrilegious use of prayers, yes theon is a handyman and a poet :D
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 10:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10592208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/pseuds/TotemundTabu
Summary: 1978. Robb is a catholic husband trying to deny his homosexuality and Theon, a young handyman with a love for literature, is the fever he always craved. - 30 THROBB SMUT #25 - SOAK





	

**#25 - Soak**

 

* * *

 

**You fill me up, you fill me up, you set my soul ablaze**

 

* * *

 

 

In the corner of the glasshouse, a puddle of thick, stagnant water reeked of the sweetest earth.

In a pile of rotting, wet flowers, dethroned by the rain, that broke their vases open, there were his cigarettes, too, extinguished, burnt and twisted. And lemons, crowned by the droplets of the evening past squall and present tender dew, shone of a yellow so honest it seemed fake … some of them were also fallen, squished, and their open juice bled inside the greenhouse.

Theon's breath, next to him, and the way his body moved slowly, with his spine riding the sleepy last trace of a dream, called him back.

Robb gave one last glance to the disaster of glass and petals.

 

_Kiss my lips, feel the rhythm of your heart and hips,_

_I will pray so the castle that we've built won't cave._

 

_*_

 

Robb met him the first time, as spring melted away in the sweat of summer.

It was 1978. May was bringing out the scent of roses but they all bloomed little and died quickly, swooned away by the heat. Green shone bright and dense, thick under the palate, and it left in him the sensation everything could be fresh and new. But instead he just kept on living that saturated muggy life he always had before.

Jeyne laughed sweetly, offering him a sip of water to drink, while he was looking at the signs on the road, trying to realize where they fuck they were.

He cursed his parents for picking this specific house – between the sea and the woods, in one of those small summer towns made all for tourists to place their lazy butts as holidays arrived. No, not even in the town, isolated even from that, actually, fully immerged in the woods, atop of a small hill, from which one could see the glimmering shimmering blue of the waves. Very romantic, on paper, in real life, fucking uncomfortable.

They got lost, the radio having stopped working twenty kilometers before; Jeyne didn't seem to mind, but he was going insane over it, because every road sign was rusty or old or straight up taken down by some storm, one got hit by a thunder that charcoaled it all up.

Jeyne held his arm, tweeting and chirping on how happy she was, on how the light in that place was perfect, filtering in broke shards from the hems of the full big leaves of the trees above them.

Robb just wished he could care.

He hadn't felt anything except peace in a long time, and that was no good.

Peace was static and he craved the frantic hunger, the needles and their sweetness.

He craved a fever.

It made no sense, so he made sure not to say it; he glanced at his wife with a vague tender look and she misunderstood his hesitation for tiredness. She kissed his forehead.

“When we arrive, I'll make something to eat, okay? Whatever you want.”

Robb shrugged, “I just hope the kitchen will work. - he mumbled, remembering Jeyne did tell him something about some kind of handyman being there before them – What did they say was the problem?”

“Wasps. - she answered, making a weird face, dumbfounded – Crazy, right? The previous owners said they firstly renovated only half of the house, for rent, but when your parents liked it and decided to buy it all, and they started renovating it fully, they found a wasp hive in the kitchen chimney. - she let out a small laugh – And, like, there is no way in hell I'm going in the house until those things are dead.”

Robb snorted, “Did you bring your flamethrower, Clint?”

“Don't mock me! - she laughed – I hate wasps.”

“Then maybe a house near the woods was not the best plan.”

“It's your parents' gift and it's a house!”

Robb sighed, “...We could have refused it.”

“Anyway. - Jeyne pinched his arm but Robb didn't feel much – The construction worker who put the solar panels and fixed the balcony said he would send one of his brothers to take care of it. It's like a family business.”

Robb stopped listening for a while, silent, and glanced out of the window, still searching for a sign, “It's really full of leaves here, uh?”

“A good opportunity to quit smoking, darling.”

He sighed, “I suppose so.”

Another habit to quit.

 

*

 

Outside, the house gave an old vibe, with the peachy white walls and the red roof, with the three chimney mouths on top.

The house had those white, thick walls, that bring fresh in the heat and warmth in the cold, or so are supposed to, but mostly bring moist to fuck your bones raw. It was close to a river and surrounded by the trees. Robb could hear the birds chirping and he imagined how more beautiful it would have been were if they shut up.

Jeyne exited from the car and rushed to what looked like the dip for an old mill grindstone, and observed in delight, eyes bright with joy - “We could place a wisteria here! It would be so romantic!”, she exclaimed, caressing Robb's arm, while he walked to the door.

“I guess so. - he mumbled up, knocking on the big redwood door – We can do all you want.”

Jeyne grinned and then kissed him softly on the mouth.

The door opened and to welcome them came a voice of gravel and silk.

“You must be the Starks.”

Robb turned and his heart fell at the bottom of his stomach.

Jeyne smiled, holding his hand, “You must be from Greyjoy Construction and Repairs.”

The man nodded, uninterested, then tilted his head to the side, “Yes, I've just opened the windows a little to let out the scent of the products. The wasps are all taking a new arrivals tour in hell right now.”

Jeyne was blabbering some thankful words, but Robb could barely hear them.

_Fuck_ , he was pretty.

Tall, lean, dark – his hair was locked in a messy bun, but must have been beyond the shoulders, tiny almond-cut eyes. Wide, wide shoulders, but not ungraceful, he leant his weight a bit on one leg and Robb's jaw clenched tight as his glance run down on his tiny waist and hips sharp as a knife.

Jeyne held his arm, waking him up, “Thank you so much, me and Robb are true city kids, we wouldn't have known how to handle it!”

Robb stiffened, pouted, almost offended, then blurted out, “I - I would have known what to do.”

The guy chuckled.

Not even mockingly, well, just partly.

He mostly looked a tiny bit amused – he raised an eyebrow and glanced back at him.

His eyes were black holes and Robb could feel his whole soul, well and his crotch too, absolutely caught in that magnetic look.

“Theon.”, he said, grabbing Robb's hand to shake it.

“Robb...”, he replied, trying and utterly failing, to hide his fluster.

He sure was glad most straight men couldn't spot a gay one as long as he didn't have the voice of a counter-tenor or was not dressed in lavender purple.

“So. - he looked back at Jeyne almost immediately – Are you staying over for the summer?”

“My in-laws actually bought this for us. We were thinking of coming here from June to October...”

Theon frowned, then he chuckled nervously, “...Oh, if you need anything else between here and then, just give me a call. - he handled his business card – There are a couple rooms still unused upstairs.”

It took a moment for Robb to realize he meant they may want a second bathroom and may need his help with the pipes.

His eyes fell again on the man's flat abs, that the worn discolored work t-shirt was not supposed to make look so good, for sure.

Jeyne promised to and made a joke about Robb for sure needing help with DIY.

Theon's laugh echoed – scorching like August sun.

Robb felt the burn sink under his skin.

 

*

 

“So, umh... - Theon turned to him, slowly, arms deep into the floor, working on the pipes – Your job would be?”

Robb, who was standing on the door, supposedly to check over the work and maybe help out, more likely just to glance at Theon's ass in the tight, worn jeans – and oh, he had a black v-cut that was a tiny bit so short and as he bent, he showed part of his lower back and, god, didn't he have Venus' dimples? Robb cursed himself into hell.

Robb coughed, half-chocked by surprise at his thoughts being brutally interrupted, and tried to come up with a decent reply, “Excuse me?”

Theon sighed, “Yeah, not really my business... - he admitted witha hint of a mocking grin on his lips – It's just you are staring silently from behind my back, so, I'm sort of checking you're not a serial killer.”

Robb realized and moved from behind, sitting near the hole in the floor where Theon was working.

“Architect.”

“Cool. - Theon nodded – That doesn't comfort me about the serial killer thing, sounds exactly like something a serial killer would do. That, and surgeon.”

Robb snickered, “Neurosurgeon.”

“Eh. - Theon chuckled, nodding and tightening the bolts – You're funny.”

“Don't hear that often.”, Robb admitted.

Theon seemed to want to reply, but then he shut up and returned to focus on his work. Robb couldn't help but find him so beautiful with that little wrinkle between his black eyebrows.

“And the... miss?”

“Oh, - he sort of just remembered he had a wife? Christ, he was a piece of shit, wasn't he? – Jeyne is a teacher. She works mostly with problematic kids.”

“Problematic as in retarded or as in junkies?”

Robb stiffened, about to reply how neither of those words were acceptable and then he paused, because, somehow, he didn't feel like he would have done it to defend the children as much as himself. And he knew he couldn't really ask Theon to understand.

“Different kinds, not only one... some of them had some peculiar situations at home and lost some years, things like that.”

“Whoa. - Theon whistled, half impressed half amused – She's an angel of the morning, isn't she?”

“I guess one could say so.”, Robb mumbled.

“Wish I had a teacher like that...”, Theon admitted.

Robb frowned up, “You were not a very good student?”

Theon snapped his fingers a couple times against the tube, then moved to another one, commenting distractedly, “Oh, I was, until I was in school.”

“...you quit a bit too early and regretted it?”

Theon this time laughed, “Did you see this place? It's not like I could just drop everything and go to university.”

Robb swallowed up a sour feeling.

“Family business was not only an option, I'm guessing.”

“Yup. - Theon shrugged – But there is work, maybe if I went there and studied ten years, now I'd be unemployed.”

It sounded so sour and so hopeless, even under all the smirk and fake non-chalance Theon was giving it with.

And Robb stared at his wide shoulders and his strong muscles looked like iron balls.

And then he glanced at the gentle tan on Theon's neck and arms and it seemed to him to be a chain and collar.

And he looked at those hands and they burnt because they were not on him.

“What would have you studied?”

He chuckled, “... literature, I think.”

 

*

 

May turned my bones

blue

to the core,

but June tasted

like the whirpool

of the waves

you drowned me

in.

 

*

 

Theon took off his thick gloves and passed a hand on his forehead, sweat dripping, under the June sun. He breathed out, exhausted.

Robb's hand moved a beer can in front of him.

He grabbed it, then turned with a smile, “Thanks.”

“You seemed thirsty.”, Robb commented, between shy, tempted and flustered.

Theon raised an eyebrow, then showed a glimpse of a grin, “So do you.”

Robb stiffened and took a step back, angry, “Excuse me?”

Theon's lips quivered – Robb noticed how full they looked, how big, how soft as the little droplets of beer wetted them, white foam staining them slightly. He wished he could fuck that mouth and foam up into him, bucking raw against his palate and, Christ, again. He moved away, leaving the room.

Theon stood up, looking at him in worry.

Did he go too far? Did he think it wrong?

Robb had taken the habit of coming very often during the days Theon was working on the house, while Jeyne was still working on some summer courses, and... somehow Theon got that crazy silly idea of confidence, of closeness, of – a feverish look that Robb seemed to give him at times, as he thought Theon couldn't see.

His cerulean eyes would turn darker, hotter, and Theon could feel them on himself.

He shrugged, it was not his business, after all. Robb was married.

Robb returned up to him, with another car of beer, fresh from the fridge and an embarrassed expression.

“You... were probably right. - he faked – I feel a lot better now that I drank a bit.”

Theon's glance couldn't find rest. It was rushing all over the other man's body.

He swallowed, deciding to go with the version where his comment was literal, and he laughed it off, “I know right? It's a fucking oven in here.”

“It is, isn't it?”, Robb tried to laugh and then strangled gulp came up from his throat as silence fell all over him.

Theon clacked their cans together as in a toast.

“It's coming out nicely. - he said, glancing at the bathroom – First days of July, it will be ready.”

And then, then he'd be gone.

Robb gulped down some beer.

“How much would it cost to make a pool?”

Theon turned, confused, “You're near the sea, why would you need one?”

Robb smiled, “...shouldn't you convince the client to get one?”

Theon's eyes lingered on Robb's chest.

“... I can ask my father for an estimate.”, he commented, trying hard to push himself towards control.

Robb was a married man.

A happily married man.

He returned to work on the pipes, trying to silence those thoughts, but as water spurted on him, drenching his shirt attached to his body, they came back, screaming.

Robb stared at him, just swallowing dry and hard. His jaw dropped slightly, as he ran his tongue across his bottom lip, unadvertedly.

 

*

 

The day after, Theon didn't come. Instead, he sent a sister than glanced at Robb up and down, as if she had to dissect him alive.

Robb felt actually glad; he could finally work and focus on the renovations without his hormones betraying him. He could finally avoid having his efforts burnt down to the roots.

He worked so hard to stop, so much, so deeply – he couldn't let himself fall into temptation. Not again. Not ever.

He closed in the room he decided was going to be his studio, with a big window on the roof, he could watch the sky from.

He breathed in, smoking another cigarette – unable to give that habit up to, unable to give up that need – and he pressed the rosary between his hands.

_Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil._

The marble beads hurt against his flesh, the metal chain pressed and his nails cut his skin.

He could feel his knuckles go numb and white.

...  _and lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil._

He went into town, that day, right after sunset, as Asha – was that her name? - left his house, and found a diner. The big white and red sign, a stylized soup and a smiling child with a bowtie was there since more or less twenty years, judging by the style, and that made him feel just more anxious.

He ordered something to drink and some soup with garlic bread, staring at the TV as people cheered, jumping, in ecstasy, as Ron Guindry sets a record of 18 strikes out.

He forced himself to think about food, about what Father Patrick would tell him to comfort him and how he really had to stop before it went out of hand. Before he'd sin.

Before... he knew what they did to people like him.

He held the rosary, munching his food slowly.

“Robb?”

The Lord works in mysterious ways. Lucifer's paths, instead, are often too clear.

And too immense for us to skip.

He moved his head and met Theon, who looked at him in mid-embarrassment, as he entered. He was wearing some nice shirt and trousers and almost didn't look immediately like himself all cleaned and put together. He looked even better, in a way.

“ _Oh_. - he swallowed up – Theon.”

And Robb was not sure if he was perceiving him right or filtering everything trough his dirty mind.

Because he couldn't say if he was being sensual or sad or hopeless or cheeky, as he asked in between a grin and lifted eyebrow if he could sit with him.

Robb accepted, not sure why.

He was sure father Patrick wouldn't have advised him to dine with a man he wanted to screw over the table. It was hard knowing he wouldn't have fucked him, though; that void burnt like the metal to brand cows against his lips.

He glanced at Theon's chest and he turned, pretending not to notice, asking the waitress for two beers, on him. They seem to know each other, as she caressed his arm and he winked at her.

“So... - Theon scratched his ear, the massaged the lobe – Is Jeyne still in city?”

“Yes, she'll join me as soon as she can.”

“I see, uhm... - Theon started to sip his beer as it arrived and the sourness kicked his mouth dry – If you want, I can keep sending my sister this week, if you... found yourself at your ease. I know a woman usually doesn't do this job, but...”

Robb was not sure which excuse to use for himself.

He should have grabbed that anchor, that hope, and tell him that, yes, his sister was a great plan.

Instead, he gulped down and let out a little, rattled lie, “Hm, I'm not sure, this... it's a man work, you know. Also, I admit I find you a funny one.”

Theon glanced by side, “So... you don't mind me around?”

He could have said yes.

He could have pushed him away.

Instead he stared at him in enchantment: there, at that table, drinking, slowly sipping, and how his pointy elbow was sharp against the white plastic table, and his rolled up shirt sleeves – he didn't have much hair on his arms, but they were dark and looked like ink stains almost, thin thin, like cuts of void in cut through paper for the light to stab through – and the little square clock signed the wrong time against his bony wrist, his hand's veins instead looked sculpted, big, maybe for the force he used to work, maybe for the smoke, his long hair rolled on his back a bit, like some kind of silk curtain of the night; it was soothing and painful to him to realize he needed those hands to touch him and those hair to rub against his pillow.

...  _and lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil._

Robb dropped the spoon, imagining how it would have felt kissing him.

Furiously, hungrily, greedily, their bodies pressed together – their needs melting up in flames and their souls lit up to burn.

How sweet, how dark.

How would have it felt to be with him?

“I like... - he swallowed up – I like having you around.”

Theon smiled, in a grin, this time bright and innocent more than flirty.

Yet, all about him was sultry and dense and intense.

He was Marsala wine, not water.

And that, that at least, Robb tried not to forget.

Summer shimmered out, lullabies of motors rushing on the road, and fireflies burning away on the long grass blades turned blue by the night. It felt all like underwater, magical and terrible all together, as it was as blue as it could be – not black yet, not scary as only void can be – and yet air went heavy and hard to breathe, with heat, with... arousal, perhaps.

So much that, when they stood up, shook their hands goodbye and stepped out of the diner, Robb felt his head dizzy and couldn't avoid a “I can drive you home”.

So that, when they started walking through the small town and lights went off in houses and the corners went secretive, and sweet as mothers keeping secrets, Theon felt his heart flutter and glanced at Robb, “From here on, I can just go on alone... if you have to leave...” .

...  _and lead us not into temptation._

So that, when Robb pressed him against a brick wall and Theon grabbed his head, bringing him closer, their minds went blind and all they could feel were their lips finding each other's. Heat bruising them, hunger tormenting them, Robb would press against him, taking control, Theon's tongue would plead for more of a taste, while he melted into the kiss, Robb filling his mouth, making Theon's eyes roll back in delight.

_...but deliver us from evil._

Theon's lips trembled, when Robb moved back, suddenly, unsure himself if he parted from him for air or for salvation.

Theon's hands against his auburn curls felt soft, tender – he did not look like a Lucifer's trick. He did, when sweaty, when smirking, when he mocked his thirst.

But right then, right now, he just looked hopeful and needy, and with eyes wide in a silent plea.

His soul was alight too, wasn't it?

And once you know how to set fire to your own soul, making it return to cold... that's not easy.

Robb pressed him against the wall and kissed him again, making him arch and twist, moaning into the wet edge of their mouths. Theon held him down, pulling him, as a mermaid, trying to drown a sailor.

Theon's voice turned breathless, his eyes wet, as Robb broke the kiss, panting.

“...Your place would be safer.”

Robb passed a hand through Theon's hair, contemplating the idea: pulling that hair, as he'd sink into him and fuck him against the mattress, then forcing him to ride him and contemplate in enchanted vulgarity that body twitching and moving against his manhood.

He glanced at his hand, the one he was caressing Theon with, and he saw the small signs of the bids, of the chain, of the nails.

“Not tonight.”

Theon swallowed up, then chuckled and gave a sarcastic, “Are you one for waiting?”

Robb moved a lock of Theon's hair behind the ear, seeing him shiver as his hand was against the soft line of its shell. He bit his lips to the pulp, imagining to fuck him melted.

“I... - he forced himself to think about the Pater Noster – It's a bit complicated.”

Theon glanced by side, “Complicated as in 'I like both but I'm married' or...?”

“The other...”, he admitted.

“Why did you?”

“Why didn't you continue studying?”, he asked, softly, with a sad smile.

Theon smiled back, cupped Robb's face between his hands and kissed him, wild and teared and intense.

“I never thought I'd find someone as stupid as I am.”, he breathed out.

Robb passed his hands on his tiny waist, “I surpassed the expectations, I suppose.”

The crickets sang a scratched goodnight, cutting the sky, and Robb moved away from Theon, asking him to come the day after. Theon accepted, with a newly found mix of glee and pain dancing in his guts.

 

*

 

Robb threw the cigarette in the water of the river and Theon shook his head.

The grass around them was hard and tall and yellowing with the temperature rising, and Robb threw himself against the dry earth.

Theon had finished the pipes' connections and had been putting together a bathtub that afternoon, but as the sun fell down its ride and the moon rose, Robb asked him to come to the garden and smoke with him.

Theon smoked and then put off his cigarette against his shoes... well, like any boy grown up between that many trees, while Robb would just hope to hit the river and have it kill the flame for him. He was, indeed, terrible at controlling fires, real or metaphorical.

“You know, here the sky is way clearer than in Boston.”

“Really? - Theon asked, sitting next to him, his hand close to Robb's laying head – I guess I never thought about that.”

“There are so many planes now... and loud music and lights at every hour.”

“You speak like an old man. - Theon chuckled – If you lived in a butthole like this one, you'd appreciate all that is unnatural and artificial.”

“Maybe.”

Robb lit up a new cigarette and handed Theon the package, so that he'd take one too.

If he'd take two bad habits at once, maybe, then he could have dropped both of them, somehow.

“Did you ever try to change?”, Robb asked, smoking away.

Theon chuckled, laying down and rolling in the grass next to him.

“Like?”

Robb swallowed, feeling him close, his head next to his armpit, he could feel the tingle of Theon's breath against his skin.

“...I don't know, not to be...”

“...a homosexual?”, Theon asked, raising the eyebrows, allusive.

The sound of the wind brought up the songs of the leaves dancing. The scent of maturing fruit filled the sweet air.

“I fucked every whore in town. - Theon admitted, staring at Robb's ribs, stubbornly avoiding his eyes – I was even good to them, I'd fuck them sweet, I'd suck their boobs and lick their cunts, they'd scream and beg to meet again...”

Robb let out a weak laugh, “Bragging?”

Theon shrugged, “It's more of a dramatic irony than anything else. - he closed his eyes – I kept fucking, hoping I'd... fuck the need away, like when you sweat a fever out and your skin makes you lose all the bad. I hoped... I wouldn't be sick anymore.”

Sickness, sin. Such different names, so similar.

“When did you stop?”, Robb asked.

“I.. kept coming only when, fucking them, I'd imagine someone fucking me from behind.”

His fists clenched on Robb's shirt and Theon almost moved his hand away but Robb grabbed it and kept it on himself.

Theon's voice got strangled and thin, like a rope losing one by one all its strings and getting fragile and unraveled and weak.

“I felt so... sick, like... something was damn wrong with me.”

Robb turned his head and wanted to kiss his hair and promise him there was nothing wrong... but how could he say that, when he himself...

“I went to Father Patrick... he baptized me, my confirmation was with him, he... he said praying would have worked. - he confessed, words rolling out of his mouth like blood from a fresh cut, they came down slow and then all at once, in drops of sobs – He said if I married quickly, if I got a family, all would have gone away, that... the pure love of a marriage in front of Christ would have ... banished all evil.. as prayers should have.”

Theon raised on his elbows and pressed his lips against Robb, hungrily, desperately.

Robb parted, pushing his arms between them, forcing Theon off his lips and still not sending him completely away, instead, his hands, pressing against him, were also holding his shirt tight, the cotton held without fail, his knuckles whited.

“I have to stop you, all of this.”

Theon shook his head, “Why? For me to return fucking girls and you to return to prayers?”

Robb could see they were the same.

His religious, straight, perfect family with a little white fence and good respectable neighborhoods parties. Theon's with their country beers and their small-town construction worker's machismo, that even his sister looked like she had more muscles than some men he met.

His arms bent and Theon moved closer to him.

Theon's eyes filled in desire and sadness, as a melted smoldering sea of dark wax.

Robb tried to hold onto it, he tried to think about his glass windows, about the Mary statues, about the tales of Hell.

But his hell was the silence in his heart when Jeyne would try to kiss him.

His hell was the void he felt when he tried to behave.

His hell was having to part from that man.

The Hell they told him about, right then, rang with all his bells, as a grim warning, and yet that hell was not as scary, as terrifying, as annihilating as the idea of letting go of that thin cotton shirt.

He pulled Theon down and opened his mouth, welcoming Theon's tongue and his greed and lust.

And it may have been made of all the sins.

But nothing ever felt more sacred than that kiss, shared under a tender moonlight, with Theon's hand against his curls, and his scent filling the air.

Theon's body felt light against his own, almost fragile, as if about o shatter, and yet something about him made Robb indelicate and voracious and rough. He was inviting, he was sex.

Robb's hand passed on Theon's waist, held his hips, kept him close.

He noticed then how small Theon would have liked to be.

That man, who'd dreamed of studying literature and got stuck in that small town, working a job he probably hated and saw his body change for it. Would Theon have liked to be different? Did he feel good, tiny and small between his arms?

Theon caught his lips and bit the bottom one hard, making Robb wince.

Then a grin, Robb sunk back into Theon's mouth, hardening as he felt Theon's crotch against his own.

“...We should go in.”, Theon whispered, seductively, drawing circles on Robb's chest.

Robb nodded, then kept him close still and breathed in the evening cold air.

“A moment more, just a moment more.”

 

*

 

Break our bones,

rearrange them,

mix them up –

so that I'll bring away a bit of you.

You a bit of me, too.

Secretly.

 

So you can pretend,

with them, you didn't.

And I'll still

rot

and bloom

in you.

 

*

 

The house still smelled like paint and cement.

Robb dragged Theon by the arm to one of the rooms he and Jeyne more or less fixed up. There are sheets with roses drawn over and a picture of the Virgin Mary, he realized only when turning on the light.

Theon raised an eyebrow, “Bit blasphemous.”

“I, we can find another room...”, Robb tried, almost hesitant in shame.

Theon climbed the bed, took the holy picture and turned it with her face back, then laid on the bed, smirking, inviting.

“So? Waiting for the Messiah?”

Robb moved closer and took off his shirt, while Theon moved to his trousers, unzipping them, pulling them down, then palming Robb's thick cock through the soft thin fabric of the underwear.

Theon's glance was liquid flame, as he moved his hand up and down, slowly, following the shade of Robb's arousal coming to show more and more clearly.

Robb's thumb caressed his plump, soft lips, rubbed them unkindly, pulling his jaw slightly down, in a silent request.

Theon obliged, with a smirk, starting to lick through the fabric, sucking gently, where the tip was supposed to be, making Robb stiff up and choke a moan down, then pulling the underwear down, taking it by the base and licking its whole, raw, bared length.

Robb could feel his lower back melt, his knees reduced to jelly.

Theon's wild black mane hid part of his face and Robb pulled it back, uncovering his face, enjoying the sight of the look he was having, while his mouth was open, his tongue sticking out – almost like a dog, almost like a slut – and welcome on its flat hot wet flesh Robb's cockhead, sensitively twitching under the touch.

It felt electric, like he was suddenly more naked than he ever was.

And Theon's expression, lascivious and luxurious, half-lidden eyes, hungry needy moan rolling out his open jaw – it all made it just stronger, it stirred his cock jolting hard.

Theon opened his mouth wide, welcoming, and wrapping Robb's tip into it and sucking it slowly. His lips like branding iron, setting his skin on fire, making him wish he could press into him and fuck the back of his throat.

Robb could feel his hips pulse and ache at having to stay still.

The sight of his precum dripping on Theon's lips and off his hard cock being swallowed and then cuddled into the overtly soft utterly hot cradle of that mouth made his spine weak and his mind wicked.

There was nothing holy in a universe where the lustful, lewd light in Theon's eyes existed.

There was just him.

His dark eyes, his scorching touch, his dominating tongue – they painted the limits and borders of the world.

He, who was hell, was heaven too – he was earth itself, more of everything.

He was an Eden re-found.

Theon gulped him down, sucking hard, keeping his whole length in now, with his hot tongue as ruffled smoldering pavements of pleasure, while he moved his head, banging himself against him. Robb shivered and held his head tight against himself, unable to stop, pressing him down, filling him to the brink, coming hard against the wall of his throat.

He jerked, almost scared of himself, as he realized how hard he was pushing, but, to his surprise, as he tried to slip out, Theon grabbed him with his hand, pulled and licked him clean, swallowing down, eager and greedy.

Robb gulped.

“I-”

“Do it more.”

“What?”

Theon chuckled, as if it were obvious, “What you want.”

Robb glimpsed away, wondering if truly, wasn't that just a permission to be fully the beast the angels were asking him to stop being? But Theon grabbed his head and kissed him long and dark, his lips going numb in pleasure and in the slight pain of Theon biting them, then licking away the blood with his big quick tongue.

Their teeth clacked, in smirks and grins, before tasting the flesh of each other's neck. Robb hissed against the pain, he delighted to the glorious bliss.

And Theon – he shone, in black and blue. Brighter than the moon in the still night.

 

*

 

There are skeletons

in this closet,

they keep me company.

 

Your light licks away

the pain

and the shame

I embedded

and carved

in our bones.

 

*

 

Robb smiled into the kiss, throwing Theon against the wall, pushing him against the smooth bathroom tiles. He smirked back and opened his legs, crossing them around Robb's hips, writhing and moaning as Robb started moving, rubbing their erections together.

Theon threw his head back, feeling the coldness of the wall against him, rubbing almost unkind, yet just more arousing, while Robb would press their crotches close, grabbing their cocks and jerking them so strongly, Theon felt close to melt down, sparks riding him, as their sensitive tips hit together, clashing.

Robb growled against Theon's neck, he sank his teeth in, drinking up the heartbeat, the shattered breathe, the moans riding the air. Theon's mouth hung open, sounds dropping lewd as an obscenities rain, staining and bruising his lips with the shame of how acute his voice could go, while Robb would growl and thrust against his cock.

Theon's nails clawed at Robb's back – lines of drawn red, fleshed out trenches, while he squirmed and writhed, desperately undone. His voice drained out, acute, hitched hoarse, as he came, pressing himself against Robb, unable to stop feeling him, needing him.

Robb moved his thumb over the head of Theon's cock, rubbing it, as softly as lecherous, forcing the oversensitive tip to the edge of pain, and dragged the orgasm out, full and hard and long.

Sweetness melted away in a libidinous lewdness, the hunger corrupting everything tender, pain and sweet tasting the same.

Robb's fingers sank in Theon's flesh, a mean grip on his hips.

Theon squeezed him closer with his legs, right before losing any stregth and Robb pinned him even harder to the wall, coming right after, jerking and thrusting his hips against him and then coming all over their abdomens, all over Theon's come too.

Theon stared down in glowing awe, then, his eyes still dark in desire, licking his lips inadvertedly, he whispered, “...More?”

Robb swallowed down, “You're sure?”

Theon smirked, amused, “Pretty much.”

He moved forwards, pulling Robb's hard close by his nape, and letting him drown in for a kiss. His eyes slowly rolled back in bliss, as he felt Robb's tongue filling his mouth, forcing him to make him space, forcing him to swallow his taste, to feel his scent up to his brain.

He was sure he was losing his head.

A married man.

But inside he felt something addicting he never had before: more. When Robb touched Theon or kissed him or fucked with him, it was not normal pleasure, it was amplified, it echoed through his fucking ribs and like a beam or a gleam turned him to light.

And could have set him on fire. He was sure.

That man was a half-lit cigarette thrown in the woods.

And he had always been dried weeds.

“Shag me open.”, he begged, moaned, against Robb's lips, catching them again and bringing him against one more time.

He started to feel he could breathe only through Robb.

It shivered down his back the fearful awareness of what he was putting himself into, but Robb was already smiling at him and then, nothing else mattered much, did it?

 

*

 

Collect me,

even if I'm wrong,

collect me whole –

 

our mouldy hearts

seem to bloom again.

 

*

 

Theon shouted, his jaw sprained open, his legs trembling in bliss. He held the sheets, nails sinking into it, gripping through the satin, as his ass pulsed in delight.

He bit his lips, only low “ngh” and “ugh” rolling out of his lips, as he tried, uselessly, to recompose himself. The heat, the heat was killing him.

His ass felt so good, stretched, pulled open, and his whole flesh felt so hot like sweltering fevers took him over.

He stuck his tongue out and panted, as Robb started moving his hips.

His cock would tear him, pull him, moving, scorching up inside him, and then almost exiting – to his thoughtless momentarily panic – just to refill him again, harder, rougher, bigger. Theon sucked on his own lips, staring above himself, begging himself not to be moaning as slutty as he sounded in his head.

Robb's voice grew lower and huskier at every thrust, as if he was trying to keep himself from going faster. And, yet, in his thrusts, there was a rough edge, something harsh, the slap of his balls against Theon's ass, the one of Robb's hands to follow soon after, making him red and writhed and wickedly hard.

Robb's left hand held Theon's hips, bruising him well, pressing in possession.

Theon wondered why he wouldn't have minded being eaten all up in one big gulp.

Robb's thrust shook him, took him over, tore him – he moaned and tighten up against him, keeping him in, cherishing the dirty, lustful fever of feeling himself filled and owned. Robb's thick shaft pushed through him, his hands bruising the tender legs or the full ass, glistering in sweat.

Theon could feel his own breath heavy and shaken, desire squirming up and electrocuting his senses blind, while a twisted grin bent his lips.

Robb sank into him and he rocked back, eager, writhing in a pained pleasure, in an annoyed bliss, as Robb hit his prostate, over and over again, driving him on the verge. Robb bent down, biting Theon's neck, dragging out of it all the moans and the whine pleas for more, for harder, for rougher he had in his lungs – they filled up the air like smoke.

Rob spanked him at every thrust, pushing harder, making Theon's knees so weak he is about to crumble down, Robb's grip being the only thing to glue him up, together and whole, and not an unraveled mess.

Theon gasped, panted, writhed – he let out a wordless shout and then Robb's name, over and over, louder and louder, until his voice got hoarse and dry.

Robb mauled the neck, slamming faster and harder, making Theon come, trails of sperm on the sheets, trails of come dripping, his eyes half blanks, as he trembled, under and around Robb in a squirmy mess.

Robb moved away from the neck, softly kissed the shoulders, then their blades, out like wings, as Theon forced himself to still stand on his elbows, afterglow melting him whole. Robb grabbed his cock, moved to the heavy balls, caressing them under Theon's winced bliss, and chuckled against the oversensitive tip, that jumped as he touched it.

He moved, slowly again, while moving his hand up and down Theon's shaft, making him all hard again, and then faster, rougher than before, hitting him with no mercy left, his hips jerking in need for release. Theon shouted breathless, held the sheets, unsure how it could feel so good to be just taken and slammed in, over and over.

Borders disappeared soon.

And he came again, Robb torturing him in pleasure from inside and outside, leaving him a shivering mess, turned all.

Theon shouted, coming hard, then his voice got chocked up, as Robb put both his hands on his hips and slammed in, making him almost scoot with the bed, harder against the oversensitive tingling flesh, until he could empty himself up, shooting into him.

Theon could barely feel as he slipped out, at first, because his hole stayed there, twitching, for a bit, but then the void assaulted him and it felt so empty and cold; he turned to Robb, kissed him and murmured, “Put your fingers in for a while...”.

Robb kissed him further, smiling into it, feeling as if paradise clashed between them.

He pushed his fingers into Theon, taking a perverted delight in seeing him gasping and rolling his eyes to the ceiling in bliss. He kissed his forehead and held him through the night.

 

*

 

The glaucous evening shimmered, blooming cold.

The sea shone silver in the dim moonlight and the din of the crickets warmed them fine, as the tall uncut olive trees sent the last smell of their softness, as their flowers dry out in the sweltering darkness of that febrile summer.

Robb sighed his lungs empty, staring at the sky above their head, while Theon's glance was lost at the sea, bellowing full and murky in the distance.

“I love you.”, Robb confessed, more in an anxious plea for confirmations than in an heroic, epic, statement.

Theon smiled, forcing himself to imagine a place a whole lot different.

Love removed his skin and left him naked and oversensitive, and every word or gesture seemed to stab him or infect him, almost. And, although Robb meant no harm, he found himself wounded all the same.

And all the same willing to get wounded again.

“You have a wife.”, he replied, bitterly, as hurt rose sour on his tongue.

 

*

 

“When did you know?”, he asked, running his finger on Robb's soft chest, curling some of his hairs around his fingertip.

Robb took a deep breath, trying to remember exactly, but so much passed. He was not sure.

Past was all a blurred series of fearful moments, shame, the feeling of a mask glued up on his burnt skin.

“I guess always had... but realized _realized..._ under Nixon.”

Theon snorted, “That was shitty timing.”

Robb couldn't help but laugh too, “Can't deny that...”

Theon kissed a nipple, gently, “And since then you always tried to... pray it away?”

“Ah-a. - he sighed – Didn't work that well.”

“I could guess that. - Theon admitted, with a weirdly cheerful raise of his eyebrows – But I'll feel important and life-changing anyway.”

Robb snorted, running a hand through the deep raven hair.

“A true Epiphany...”, he seemed to promise, kissing Theon's forehead gently.

And Theon wished he could only taste the sweetness of that moment and not the sour, rotting awareness of the fact that bed, their bed, was not his at all.

“...did you ever love her?”

“Yes. - he sighed, taking a cigarette and lighting it up – Foolishly, lightly and playfully, like spring wind. - he chuckled, bitterly – But I thought it was a hurricane, at first.”

Theon stole the cigarette, unkindly, and breathed it in.

“So how do you know you love me now?”

Robb chuckled, “You'd laugh at me, if I told you.”

Theon squinted his eyes, frowning, “Probably. I mean, not going to deny that's probable, but you should test me anyway,” he concluded, almost offended.

Robb glanced at him, serious, locking their eyes together.

“It is... more intense. Everything feels like... I, I feel it more. - he sighed, glancing away, then trying to find words – Not only you, the world itself is more.”

Theon raised an eyebrow, incredulous, trying to pull out all his sarcasm.

“Technicolor?”

Robb laughed then, shaking Theon's body with his own, “I knew you would have mocked me!”

Theon puffed out some smoke, “Didn't deny it.”

And yet.

Did they feel the same?

Something cracked it him and he never felt worse, and he never felt better.

Happiness truly had a bitchy soul.

 

*

 

Robb's stubble against his cheeks and neck scratched and burned, but Theon rested against it, rubbed even, the ungentle stinging making him feel weirdly comfortable.

There was something similar to intimacy, in a way, in that displeasure.

His mind wandered away, to his mother, to when she started to lay in her bed all day long, because she kept falling and hurting herself, and her bandages stank a bit of chemicals and she had scabs of dried blood on her forehead, and sometimes her hair did get a bit dirty, as she forgot to wash it and his father couldn't bring himself to do it himself and would scoff and protest.

Theon remembered the way she'd hold him tight and let him sleep against her chest, asking him how school had gone – and he was unsure how to tell her “mom, I'm not nine anymore” “mom, dad made me stop going, remember?”, too terrified of the moment when, instead of seeing him differently, she wouldn't have recognized him at all. And when that day had come, as he returned home, and she had shrieked asking who he was..., Theon can't remember which face he had made.

He can't remember or decipher how he had felt, because, thunderstruck by pain, he was left insensitive all over, even to himself.

He had chuckled out a flirtatious smile, “I'm the help, ma'am, did you forget I was coming?”

“Oh, oh... - her weak, embarrassed look, a courtesy to stranger, a dagger to him – I'm sorry, I couldn't change from my pajamas.”

He shook his head, “Don't worry, Mrs. Greyjoy. - he smiled – I'll help you, you can take a nice bath with bubbles, I'll wash you a bit and then I'll help you dress up. - he had swallowed down and sewn a smile on his face, despite the corners burdening him, pulsing, begging to fall down, his dimples like iron nails – Did you have anything for lunch, ma'am?”

She looked around.

“No, but... if I eat without Theon, he'll feel lonely when he comes home.”

“I promise he won't. You have to eat.”

She smiled, “So I can heal soon. - she told herself, out loud – This dizziness is honestly so bothersome. Everyone seems so worried for nothing.”

Theon forced himself not to cry and instead laughed, “I'd be worried too, if my mom felt sick. It's because they love you... - he paused - ...you know?”

She couldn't see him trembling, “I'd like eggs. - she said, staring away – I haven't eaten one in so long.”

Theon nodded, then moved closer and helped her get rid of her nightgown, chuckling at her comments about how she was embarrassed to be seen naked by such a handsome boy, while his stomach twisted and revolted out.

_You can't see me at all, can you?_

He held onto Robb, mauling at his neck, scratching his back, biting his jaw, as Robb grew harder against him, rubbing themselves together, holding him close and tight by the hips.

Maybe he couldn't be seen.

Maybe he couldn't be found.

He let out a deep moan, as Robb moved away, pinning him on the bed and standing over him – Theon stared at Robb's cock, hot, wet in precome, twitching and throbbing over his abdomen, rubbing against Theon's. He arched, bit his lips, wished for Robb to get inside already and stop torturing him, as their tips met and a sparked twitch run through both of them, in a deep shiver, dragging a growl out of Robb's mouth and a loud whine out of his.

Theon wanted to ask Robb to say it again, that he loved him, but he couldn't – not after he hadn't replied, not after he couldn't be honest, not after eventually replying so bitterly.

He arched back, winced, squirmed, welcoming Robb inside him, finally, feeling his thick cock taking him and tearing him just to rebuild him all over again.

He wished for the pained pleasure to make him mad, to drive and suck out all of him, like the undertow steals the wet sand from under the feet of bathing children.

Robb's teeth made Theon twist his hips, offer himself more, as a stupid deer welcoming a feeding wolf – and Robb's fingertips pressuring purple and red constellations on him made him moan harder, because being possessed meant not being alone.

Theon had the sensation that that grip, that bite, that cock, it was all keeping him from shattering and crumbling on the floor. He grabbed Robb's face between his hands, kissed him hard, rocking himself against him, erratically, made clumsy by pleasure rising and turning him weak, pushing his sweet spot against Robb's head.

Robb held his hair, pulled them back, thrusting harder, making Theon grunt in an annoyed ache that turned fast in the deepest arousal, as he felt his own moans getting half-chocked by the position, his prostate hammered ruthlessly and Robb staring down at him, eyes gleaming in possession and hunger.

Theon's chuckled got gulped down his throat as he came, in a shout, followed quickly by Robb, grunting and groaning into him.

As Robb slipped out, Theon moved to him and licked him greedily, adoring.

Robb's eyes felt incandescent as embers, dark and full as the sea, as he caressed his hair, murmuring, soothingly, “What a good boy...” .

Theon hoped his tan would hide the lilac shade staining his cheeks.

 

*

 

I've an hanging knot on my lungs,

love sounds dirty from

your panting lips,

love echoes empty from

my corners and veins.

 

Second-hand smoke,

you drink it from me,

second-hand romance,

you pour it over me.

 

Limits we trace

in

red

pencils and rain,

half-lidden glances,

sharing sapphires in moans.

 

*

 

Robb glanced over him, as Theon stuffed a small notebook into his pockets, yellowed and half-destroyed. He moved closer from behind and kissed his ear.

“What are you always writing down, hm?”

Theon chuckled away, turning to catch his mouth and sucking those juicy big lips, biting them as one would a berry, tasting the soft texture bending under his teeth, pulsing – he glanced at them, as he parted, unable not to linger on that flavor with his mind.

“Measures for your pool.”

“Liar.”, Robb grinned, kissing him again.

Theon passed his hands through Robb's curls, while Robb's other arm raised him, as if he was a feather, and made him sit on the big dresser, pushing him against the mirror. Theon let out a breathless moan, feeing the cold against his back, then the heat from Robb's skin as he forced himself against him.

Theon smiled, shaking his head, dying a bit longer in that kiss, drowning in a tenderness he knew couldn't last for how intense it felt – like the thick sweetness of magnolia petals makes them seem so much stronger than all others, but they get stained in transparence and tear and rot all the same as one presses them. No kindness would spare them the end of a season.

“It's just measures”, he promised in a whisper.

Robb raised an eyebrow, “Then show me.”

“I can't.”

Robb almost laughed, shaking his head, “You are a terrible liar.”

“You are a sore loser. - Theon poked his nose, mocking – I have to go now.”

Robb held his waist close, making him almost jolt, as he didn't seem to even consider letting him go. His eyes shone in such a frail, heartbroken blue.

“Already? Why?”

Theon sighed, ruffling those soft curls, “I have to return home, Maron needs help with a glasshouse and...”

“Glasshouse?”

“There are many around there, some abandoned, and sometimes you get someone who wants to put them all back together. - he explained, bored, because it was in fact separating him from a much more intersting way of spending his afternoon with Robb – This dude, Seaworth, just bought one of the most... worst-off ones. It's between the river's spring and the chestnut wood, up on the hills.”

Robb squinted his eyes really hard.

“More or less, I know where it is.”

“You 've been here since enough to know. - Theon chuckled – You are such a lousy explorer.”

Robb's thumb rubbed Theon's iliac crest, making him twitch his hips.

Robb smirked, knowingly, “I had something better to do.”

“Something?”, he grinned.

“Someone. ”, Robb corrected himself, moving forward for a kiss.

Theon put a finger on his lips, “I said I have to go.”

Robb groaned and moved away, letting him move down from the dresser, but couldn't bring himself to refrain from slapping Theon's ass.

“I am serious, though. - he glanced at Theon's pockets – I want to read what you write. You wanted to study literature, didn't you?”

“Studying and doing is not the same, architect.”

Robb let out a sigh of faked exasperation and playful tiredness, “I'll end up stealing it while you sleep.”

Theon shook his head, with an amused look, “Good luck trying.”

As Theon exited the room, Robb shouted out, “I still want that pool, by the way!”

 

*

 

Robb munched slowly his by then cold food, staring at the television in the diner, as it spoke, hardly, harshly about Sydney's marches. He played with his food, letting his fork dice it up as small as he would have liked to slice his own soul up. The speaker turned soon to speak about the World Cup Argentina-Netherlands' match and Robb tried to remember the last time he played soccer.

It was before feeling weird, looking at other boys.

He munched down his food. But it had no taste without Theon next to him at the table, joking with him.

He missed him more than he ever missed Jeyne and he was sure that made him awful and unfair, but he still had to bring himself to call her and he would still hope for her not to pick up, while he waited for Theon sparklingly, eagerly, feverishly.

He wondered, in a certain bitterness, why Theon wouldn't let him read whatever he wrote.

Was he not allowed that much in?

Were there limits or boundaries that Theon settled and he didn't?

He glanced at his wedding ring and it felt so tight around his finger, he pulled it off and let it fall on the table – he just let it drop, but he felt like he threw it.

He thought about how boys throw stones on the lakes, making them jump, then staring as they drown down.

A weird sensation of suffocation wrapped around his neck.

_...full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women..._

He glanced at the ring and felt his Adam's apple as it tried to strangle him.

_Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death._

He couldn't help but to think of Theon, to want him, to desire him – and he found in himself it was really as it was always supposed to be, as Father Patrick always claimed: he desired his body, but a love bigger than them both made the desire larger than itself, and by then there was no difference anymore.

It was not lust at all. It was that sacred love.

It was not a sin and yet it was the biggest one he ever committed.

He betrayed a promise in front of the Lord, a promise to his wife... all to find the real sacred holy love, the real gate to heaven. He signed up for Hell and he did that by tasting for real what that promised godly love was supposed to taste like.

_Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death._

He repeated that to himself once more, before glancing up at the television and its white noise bland faces and moving towards home.

 

*

 

Sharing a lust of skin and bones,

we break and melt,

glass and wax. Our sheets

are

drenched in lost trust.

Naked, hands in our ribcages,

we grab out life

for our unbeating hearts.

 

*

 

_Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of mercy._

“More!”, Theon pleaded.

He sank his nails into Robb's back, making him harder, rougher, turning is thrusts more furious. He whimpered out spasmed moans, as Robb's pushed into him, taurine, bending him to sink fully, balls-deep and voracious into him.

Robb's name melted away on Theon's tongue, scorching and wet, reduced to a messed-up whine.

“Oh. _Oh._ \- Theon's voice dropped more, drier, hoarser, darker – Oh, fuck.”

Robb pushed into him again, thrusting deep and came in a roared grunt, his hips jerking madly, over Theon's quick, cried moans.

_Our life, our sweetness and our hope._

Robb's lips parted, his panting heavy, so deep from his throat, he almost seemed feral, beastly, as his hand held Theon's still hard, aching cock.

“Sorry, couldn't keep it longer.”

Theon shook his head, a smile rising on his lips, while he closed his eyes, “No hard feelings, but... don't...ngh.”, he strangled another moan, while Robb's fingers returned inside him, slowly.

Four since the start, it felt almost daring, but he wouldn't have been satisfied with less, anyway.

Heat tugged in his guts and pooled into his crotch.

Theon's asshole was still there, gaping, twitching, begging for the void to be filled soon, reddened and drooling lube, sweat, come.

_To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve,_

His voice fell from his mouth and left him mute and shaken.

He could feel Robb's knuckles taking space on the rims of his hole, while his fingers seduced softly his prostate, rubbing it, first gently, then pushing on it, making his cock twitch, wet with precome.

Robb chuckled, still moving his other hand on Theon's swollen, desperate shaft, holding it tight, as his tongue passed on the dark head, lapping the bittersweet drops spilling from it.

Theon bit his lips, his eyes rolling up, as his hips were turned to ashes by the pleasure crossing them, as the knuckles started entering in him.

Thumb slipping in too.

He could feel his flesh stretch up and he clenched his teeth, trying to stop the smile, lewd, of unraveled dignity turned to lustful neediness, that was about to get painted on him. His lips tingled, tickled, in an obscene smile.

Robb's hand was all in, and he gasped out, mouth open, aw hanging, no words spilled.

His whole insides were burning and the violation just felt good. Beyond good.

“Good boy...”, Robb whispered to him, voice mellow like dirty honey and eyes gleaming dark.

_To thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears._

Theon moaned, starting to move his hips slowly, begging silently for Robb to move, to take him, to push through him. Robb smirked, taking his time, licking and biting his lips, as he'd slowly moved beyond, staring enchanted and aroused as his wrist got swallowed by Theon's sweet hole.

He turned his fist slowly, rubbing the prostate with his knuckles, making Theon's cock jump and jolt with an orgasm he choked up by holding tight on his needy shaft.

“You'll come when I decide...”, Robb warned him.

Theon was sure he shouldn't have liked it as much as he did, but he couldn't help but melt more and more in a writhing mess, as all he could feel were the absolute soft flames of his oversensitive flesh welcoming Robb's hand and forearm inside him, pumping and grabbing all the space it needed, claiming him, pulling him, teasing his spots madly.

Robb would sink all in, fast and rough and then slow down, torture Theon's burning prostate, promise it release and then half slip out, just to sink back in. Over and over.

Tears pooled up in Theon's eyes as everything started to feel too intense. Robb's hand on his cock was almost painful, the thumb rubbing his head was cruel.

And yet, he needed it so.

_Turn then, most gracious Advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us,_

“R-obb.”, he almost sobbed, right before a push that threw him stiff.

He arched, jolted, stiffened and saw stars – his voice squeezed acute, slutty, dropped smoldering curses and obscenities, as he welcomed Robb's fist up to where he thought his body couldn't.

His feet arched up, his cock throbbed out, its veins filled in strangled pleasure.

And Robb's fist pressed in Theon more and more, making sure, at every entering and exiting, to always torment and nudge into the most tender spot, taunting it in torment and bliss.

Theon could almost feel himself fall on the edge of how much he could feel, sanity fragile as his body fell into the most drenched lust.

_...and after this our exile, show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus._

Robb smirked, “Now you can come .”, he allowed, squishing and thrusting inside Theon.

Theon's moans rode the air, clashed high, almost screams.

His sore flesh burning in need, Robb taking him over completely, as he clasped Theon's cock head once more, milking him out in a desperate squirt. He bucked in the hair, coming all over, and it hurt and it never felt better.

Robb slipped out, staring at Theon's loose asshole, still needy, still twitching.

Theon could feel himself how big it was right then, how red, how open, but he was too sore to feel any shame.

He breathed out, “...well, fuck.”

Robb laughed, almost in relief, “I guess I should have asked permission before... doing it.”

“Eh. - Theon tried to shrug his shoulders, failing – Just, do it next time.”

Robb moved towards him and Theon glared at him, warning, homicidally serious, “You're not touching my hair with that hand.”

Robb snorted.

“Fine, I'll go clean my hands before cuddles.”

Theon shook his head, rolling his eyes, as he snuggled in the pillow.

Had anyone told him he would have stayed for cuddles... until a couple months before, he would have laughed himself to death.

He held onto the pillow.

“What got into you, by the way?”, he mumbled, his voice of gravel and pastry.

Robb glanced at himself in the bathroom mirror, unable to bear his own glance, while he cleaned his hands.

_O clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary..._

“Ah, I'm not sure. - he lied, faking a cheerful voice, staring at the wedding ring he left near the sink – Don't overthink it.”

 

*

 

Theon moved away slowly, trying to not wake Robb up.

July had come and they both know what it meant. And it was right like that, after all.

He caressed Robb's jawline softly with the back of his fingers.

“You don't need a pool...”, he whispered, looking for his clothes on the floor around and trying, at every item he picked up, to digest a bit more how much he would miss him.

Way too much, way beyond.

He was sure Robb felt something, for now, something nice, somehow... but someone who tries to pray away his sexuality for years, won't divorce his wife. And he knew. Because had he married someone for keeping the appearances, to pass for straight... and Theon wouldn't have that strength either.

His father would kill him, his brothers punch him to a pulp, his sister stare at him in disgust.

He would have lost his job.

And then? What would have he survived with? And why?

For a man who'd still be married to someone else?

Theon grabbed the jeans and put them on slowly, then looked for his shirt, but his eyes fell on Robb, sleeping so soundly, with that little whistle his nose did. Damn, he was cute.

He was real cute.

He looked almost like a harmless giant, when he slept, and his copper hair shone slightly under the moonlight.

Theon sighed, putting on his shirt, hoping to find the strength, somehow.

He chuckled out, bittersweet, without knowing why.

“I like you too.”

 

*

 

Part-time lover, full-time regret,

your eyes linger

on my mocking

smirk.

Pin

me

down, but

don't you rush,

power games, you know I have always won.

 

*

 

Robb woke up with nausea fucking his tongue. He slept badly, coldness riding his spine, his veins seemed to shiver out, calling for something.

He knew Theon would have left.

He knew him well enough. It hurt all the same.

The bed felt deserted ad nothing would have filled it. The awareness of Jeyne's arrival just made him feel as if it were even more of a desolated rumble of Eden.

He prepared himself to fake a smile he was not sure he would ever manage to pull of believably.

Theon's absence stung.

It ran through his fingers and poisoned his veins, sharp like shards of glass.

His skin tingled, turned to stone and glass with the void filling around him.

He was sure he was about to lose his mind because silence was deafening loud, because empty air was heavy on his chest, because the world was bleeding out all color at once and returning to greys.

Robb wondered if he could have ever asked Father Patrick forgiveness for something like that and, then, realized little did it matter.

He lost God way before fucking Theon.

He lost God when he met him, when he saw that smirk, when he got lost in the way his voice rang and his eyes shone. He remembered sinking his nose in Theon's nape, behind his hair, where his scent was the strongest.

He remembered being immersed in Theon and consider that his heaven.

And that's when God abandoned him.

_... and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil._

He stood up, ready to clean the house, prepare it perfectly for Jeyne's arrival and, later, for when Theon or his sister would have come, just professionally, to check everything.

And he will have had to see Theon and not look at him.

To smell him and not to drown into him.

To live him in half.

As if there was a way for him to...

 

*

 

All July, I looked at you

with thin glass

on my skin.

 

You're an haunting taste,

a needed mold,

I'm ashamed to miss you beyond my bones.

Blue flames may burn,

earth can't bury you

away

anyway.

 

*

 

Jeyne laughed, crystalline.

“So, Theon... - she asked, cheerful, sitting on the border of the empty pool, staring at him working, shirtless under the heat of the first August sun – How is it going?”

Theon raised his head and passed a hand on his forehead to move away the dewy sweat.

“All fine, Mrs. Stark.”

She forced herself not to glance at him, although it was hard.

After that early separation, even as they reunited, Robb didn't really... she gulped down a thought and forced out a smile.

“Your sister told me you're also helping that nice man who lives beyond the wood? - she asked, handling him a glass of cold water – He has a greenhouse, right?”

Theon nodded, sipping, “Yes. - he tried his best to fake some charm, to try to be his flirty self, but the idea of her being Robb's wife, the idea of him kissing her, making love to her, it nauseated him beyond decency – He said he wants to start planting as soon as possible.”

Jeyne gave him a sad smile, “You don't seem very enthusiastic...”

“Well, it's work .”, he replied, as clean cut as possible.

“I know but... - she sighed, then her stare went to the house: Robb was inside. He said he was going to work on some projects, he had suddenly accepted to work on a new soup kitchen for the church, despite Father Patrick asking him all spring and Robb having refused constantly – I guess there are better and worse jobs, no? Flowers, I think, should put people in good mood.”

Theon snorted then smiled diplomatically, “I'm afraid that is more your feminine sensitivity, ma'am, for me flowers are just messy.”

“Messy?”, she blinked.

Theon shrugged, looking away, “They wither soon, wilt and rot and fall to pieces... I prefer plastic.”

“But plastic is fake.”

“But fake lasts forever. - he chuckled, then pointed at the house – We don't make houses of wood anymore, we make them of cement.”

She held back a comment, as silence burnt in her stomach, acid.

“Your girlfriend must not be very happy with your lack of romanticism...”, she then said, forcing herself to look away.

Theon turned, “I suppose she isn't.”

Jeyne took back the glass, now empty, and looked at the pool, coming together – it looked like it was only missing the water.

“I admit I'm not sure why Robb decided we needed this... - she moved her fingers on the glass, fearful, delicate, thoughts approaching and her dancing away from them in a shivered need to keep herself together – But I admit I like it.”

Theon gave her a warm look and then dared a grin, “Your husband wanted to spoil you a bit.”

A part of him considered seducing her, fucking her, making her beg him, desire him madly.

A part of him wanted a sweet revenge, knowing for how good Robb might have been in bed with him, he would have probably kept for his wife the most rigid boring missionary sex.

Making her come would have been so easy...

But her skin – her skin could have smelled like him.

Theon realized quickly he just wanted again Robb's touch, a ghost of it, even indirectly, he wanted to have him again against his skin.

He sighed, pushing away his rotten sides.

“He loves you very much...”, Theon lied her.

Jeyne smiled, her eyes turning softer.

 

*

 

“We shouldn't... - he mumbled – We really shouldn't...”

Robb glared at him, fighting between anger, sadness and arousal as they stirred his blood and make his mind murky.

He tried all July to have him back, to see him as soon as Jeyne would go away for groceries or a walk, to kiss him, to own him; but Theon kept escaping him, almost suddenly afraid for some reason.

Robb pinned him against the wall, glancing down to him.

“I know. - he admitted, moving closer to him, killing the inches between them – I still need you.”

Theon's eyes shone dark and he tried to force himself to avoid it, but under Robb he'd get so... weak. Some part of him would always return to him, always, and it drove him insane.

Theon Greyjoy, needing someone!

Now that was ... laughable, wasn't it?

He stopped thinking, as Robb put his hand under his chin, lifting just enough tilting his head and eliminating any distance between them, bowing in a kiss. Theon threw his arms at his neck and pulled him close.

Robb rubbed his thumb on Theon's jaw, inviting him softly to open it more, to wake him in, and he obeyed, bewitched, bothered and bewildered. He welcomed Robb's tongue and whined in bliss as he felt it into him again.

He missed him so...

He almost sobbed, a tear pooling in his eyes, but he refused and pressed against Robb, trying to grasp some form of upper hand, while Robb's hand were rustling and weaving through Theon's clothes, searching for a desperate contact with his skin. He was so warm.

He always felt so warm.

Robb pinned him down against the wall more, pressing, biting down his bottom lip, saerching for him, needing him to be his own. His hands reached Theon's ass and his hips, making him writhe.

Robb parted from the kiss, but his hands kept caressing Theon seding sparks through him, forcing him to suck his lips to avoid to be loud.

“Were you with someone else?”

Theon blinked.

“What?”

Robb glanced at him, dead serious, a weird, even obscure gleam in his look, “Were you with someone else this month?”

Theon pushed him away, a tiny bit too easy, so he thought Robb also let him go. That hurt too.

Was he not worth holding back?

He forced himself not to think that but it was sand paper on his pulsing wounds.

His voice came out sharp, “You are married. _I_ can do what I want.”

Robb looked at him in horror, then offence, then... was that hurt? How dared he be hurt of them two? And yet, yet that heartbroken blue peeked in between the flames. Then anger came back and he slammed a fist against the wall, right next to Theon's face.

_His right fist_ , Theon thought.

Robb tried to speak, he opened his mouth, licked his lips, bit it, tried again, but he couldn't find words.

Nothing came out, for there was nothing for him to say to that.

Fury rode his veins, as Wrath finally joined Greed and Lust. And it steamed in his stomach and it made him beastly.

He wanted to fuck Theon, to take him back, he wanted to make sure he wouldn't have wanted anyone else, didn't matter how selfish it was to ask him not to.

He wanted him. He loved him.

But Theon looked at him like there was not a part of him left longing for him, or so he felt.

Theon bit his lips, wanting to kiss him, hating himself for wanting to.

He glanced at Robb's mouth, feeling his heart sink.

Robb bent his head, tried to manage to catch Theon's glance, and, weakly, he tried, “...I love you.”

Theon glanced at Robb's hand, at the wedding ring, and a dull, thud pain echoed between his ribs and squeezed the beat out of his heart.

He couldn't bring himself to look away from Robb, so, when he bent in for a kiss, he accepted, stupidly, as waves always return to the beach they belong to.

The flashlight made them both startle, terrified, as they turned.

 

*

 

“I'm glad you came also today.”, Father Patrick said, giving him a long, benevolent, look.

Robb sucked his lips in and sighed.

“I came to pray again. - he said, almost automatically, a taste of iron filling his mouth – For Jeyne's forgiveness.”

The priest smiled, nodding and sat next to his sheep.

His cane clacked on the floor.

“Jeyne will forgive you, she is a good child. - He smiled – Some women would have opted for an annulment, but not her... - he said, almost proud – A true catholic child, ready to work for her oath to Christ, through any proof he may have placed on her road.”

Robb felt like puking.

Months had passed; he begged Jeyne to forgive him or let him go, but she couldn't bring herself to do neither of those, because it would have meant realizing, admitting, digesting what went on. He hadn't spoken to Theon since.

He wanted to search for him, but somehow, a part of him thought that maybe being discovered, the artificial light of the flashlight pointing at them and their shame – it might have been a sign.

He hoped so and, at Boston, worked on the soup kitchen, worked in it, did charity, helped the children with their Sunday school, confessed every time he could, refused the communion out of penitence for his sins to amend, prayed prayed prayed.

But Theon's moans kept creeping in his head.

Theon's smile would always wake him up at night.

Theon's scent lingered in his memory like an oath branded in his heart.

He couldn't forget.

And he was now just unsure, if God wanted to punish it that much, make it that hard for him, to make him stronger... or if he actually was telling him not to let go.

His Eden between soft satin sheets.

His Eden was a mocking smirk and a poisonously sweet sarcasm.

His Eden who wrote secrets in a journal Robb never could read.

Did he feel the same? Did they share fears? Or was he truly just a dream impossible to catch?

Father Patrick coughed, voice hoarse, to call Robb back from his thoughts and stood up, “Get some sleep, my child. God wants you strong and healthy to fight this.”

Robb nodded, then forced himself to pray, one more time before going.

_Oh my God, I am heartfully sorry for having offended thee,_

He stiffened, forced himself to stay straight with the back but his fingers almost hurt, clenching tightly.

It was so hard to forget him, so hard to wash him away. So hard to want to.

_... and I detest all my sins..._

He never detested them, he never detested  _him_ . He couldn't bring himself to.

There was just love, absolute, utter love, flowing from him.

And Lust, sure, and Greed, and Wrath. And the sodomy itself was a special branch. It was all... all so bad.

But detesting Theon? Detesting those nights and days of absolute love?

Would have a God who loved him, who knew, how unhappy he had always been, and how happy, how joyful, how fully finally alive he had felt with Theon, ask off him to detest him?He shook his head, he forced himself to arrive at the end of it.

_...because of Thy just punishment, but most of all because I have offended Thee my God, who is all good and deserving of all my love._

A good God.

A merciful, sweet father.

And his mother, and his father – they would have never understood, never. But would they have hated him? Maybe regret him, resent him, feel disappointment, but would have they wished for him to detest the only days he had been happy and banish them away?

He untied his hands.

No, his parents wouldn't have ever asked him to be unhappy just because of their morals.

They would have probably prayed for him to change, and that was possibly bad enough, but for the first time Robb could realize no parent would put their rules before their child's happiness. Not even an all-mighty one.

Not even a godly one.

Theon was not a sin, Theon was a blessing.

Theon had always been nothing less than pure absolute happiness.

“Father...”

The priest turned to him with a knowingly, soft look, as if he expected Robb to ask forgiveness once again as he many times did before.

Robb's eyes were now raw and sharp. Unflinching, like the tides.

“I want to ask for an annulment. I acted out of malice... error about quality of person and willful exclusion of marital fidelity are reasons for it.”

Father Patrick faltered, moving close to Robb, his hands now on his thigh.

“Robb, if you say this, you understand the consequences?”, his eyes seemed sad, then full of surprise as he saw Robb was just smiling, wide.

Robb held his priest's hand back, serene.

“Yes, I do.”

The priest shook his head, confused, “But for what... a life of sin?”

And Robb knew he wouldn't have understood, so he just looked at the big glass windows, at the light pouring in green and blue and red and perfect, as it shattered on the marble and reflected on the gold.

Colors did return.

“Because it's the truth.”, he replied, simply.

 

*

 

Milk was spilled

and I thought of you:

how you never broke,

immortal

by virtue of not living.

 

It poisons me with anger

how you

made me alive.

 

*

 

When he got out of the car, Robb wondered how it was even the same place.

There was no darkness all over, nature was frozen and rain tore it apart, striking it over and over again in drops and thuderbolts. The sky was so dark and heavy it barely looked different from a concrete ceiling.

And everything was immersed in the overtly sweet, almost rotten, scent of rain and wet, soft, earth.

It was flourishing and drying all together, freezing and being nourished.

Robb couldn't help but smile at that silliness.

He opened the door of the diner, but found very few people there, most too cold to actually notice him, but she – she did recognize him, and seemed confused, annoyed.

She tried to conceal the glare under a courteous tone, but couldn't phantom a smile.

“What can I bring you?”

Robb gulped down dry and smiled, “I'm searching for Theon.”

“He is not here.”

“I can see that...”

She was about to move away, when Robb held her wrist, not with violence, more simply firmly, as in a plea to not go, as in telling her that no, he wouldn't have taken that answer. She turned to him and sighed, “Look, I don't know what you want from him but... leave him alone. - she frowned, and only then Robb found her almost motherly – Theon and I had fun, okay? He is not like you, he didn't do that stuff. - she held the menu against her breast, the nametag moving a bit – His father kicked him from the activity and he had to live with that weirdo and...”

“Weirdo?”

She glared at him as to remind him she was telling him to leave.

Robb glanced at the nametag and then at her.

“Kyra, I don't want to do anything that would compromise him more. - he wondered if that counted as a lie, technically – But I do need to speak to him.”

He blinked a bit and she softened to his big, sad, eyes.

“He lives and works with mister Seaworth, now... - Kyra said, softly – He couldn't find anything else. Nobody would hire a faggot.”

She glanced at him, and Robb hesitated to reply.

“I won't force him to talk to me, if he doesn't want to.”

She groaned, “I pack you lunch, wait here.”

Kyra was kind enough to add some eggs and toast to the directions. Robb ate in the car, stuffing his face quickly on the warmth of the buttery bread and the soft yolk. It tasted good.

It filled his mouth with flavor.

And the yellow was brighter than he remembered it could be.

He glanced out of the car nervously, constantly, driving up the hill, bending his head to find signs buried by the leaves or hidden by vegetation. The wet ground slowed his tires down and made the car whine up all chocked.

Robb sighed profoundly, hoping for the rain would cease, but it rumbled and shook the sky stronger, fracturing up the clouds, storming wild.

It was when he saw the tip of the hill with the chestnut trees, he stopped the car and went out, in the pouring disaster, drenching himself to the bones, to find him.

Cold would cut and file his bones, rain eroding him down to shivers, but he glanced around, hoping to see the greenhouse, somewhere. Theon said it was there, no?

The usually tiny and calm river next to them was thundering and roaring, foaming up murky. As he crossed the it, the icy and violent water felt like shards of glass against his legs.

He heard a high shriek, a rounded hoot, an echoed woof. And then just the ships of the wind slapping the trees and the wet sound of his feet on the smudged, smashed remains of what were chestnut husks, naked from their fruits and broken from rain and passage.

He looked around, as the mist covered the horizon, blurring the dark edges of the trees.

Robb,surrounded by trees, glancing away, river bubbling and bolting out of its bed, was suddenly very aware that he was lost.

He groaned, glancing up at the sky.

“That was not helpful.”

“Is there someone here?”

Robb turned form where the voice came and moved there, staring at thhe ground to make sure not to trip, “I'm searching for Davos Seaworth...”

A soft laugh, then an umbrella over his head, saving him some rain.

The man raised an eyebrow, amused, “I am positive we do not know each other, young man, but I think I have a clue who you are.”

Robb panted out a “thank you” and took the umbrella with gratitude as he noticed that the old man in front of him was covered with a hooded raincoat.

“Come. - he said, gently – The greenhouse is close.”

 

*

 

You burn through me still.

Embers as lungs,

I flinch

at every breath.

 

You missing

turned my borders to void,

cut me to pieces,

hanging. Waiting.

 

*

 

Theon threw the pen on the desk and sighed, turning away from it. Nothing good, once again.

He couldn't let out anything decent without him.

Robb used to vibrate in his veins, to make his blood boil – words would come out spilling naturally.

There was no effort to be put, not harshness in finding words, they'd just come to him and pulse into his chest.

He glanced at the lit history textbooks Davos got him, trying to get him to consider studying again, as if he could afford it... as if he could actually focus on anything in first pplace.

Theon tried hard to work with him, to help him repair things around and then to take care of the plants, but he killed more than one by dropping it or not paying attention to it, as his mind would wander in the past, and in hopes and in stupidity.

He was still wishing for Robb back.

How pathetic, how weak could someone be? To want back someone who never belonged to them?

To want back someone who, as they had been discovered, left with his wife, worried to heal her up and feeding her lies, leaving him behind? Leaving him with his secret uncovered and the eyes of a town on him.

Legal doesn't mean accepted.

Legal doesn't mean safe.

And the sneer and the laugh and the incredulity and the mock and the way his father shook his head – not that he ever approved of him before, but then Theon saw all his hope vanish, as his brothers snorted and said they'd knew something was wrong with him.

Only Davos had seemed to see some kind of worth into him, some reason not to leave him to rot on the border of a street, but to take him in.

He asked little of the story, just what he needed, and taught him how to take care of the plants, saying to him his contract included not giving up on writing. How had Davos figured out he wrote anything, Theon was not sure, after all he was a sneaky man and he kept all his notebooks in his room. Although... sometimes he did write in the greenhouse, when the thought of Robb got too vivid for him to ignore it; could be that Davos had seen him doing it.

Davos said he had worked many jobs, before arriving there: he has been something between a sailor and a smuggler, apparently he said he had - for a time - helped in the war with _confidential information_ , then he became some kind of professor, and then he landed there to that empty hole of town, as some kind of a guardian angel.

“I wanted to take care of something that, I knew, could bloom from me .” , he said to him once.

Theon found it funny, “Why? - he inquired, amused – They will wither anyway.”

Davos chuckled and drank some coffee over that.

Knowing him, Theon supposed that Davos the most important part of such a job was the joy , that Davos was one of those people convinced that pain can be washed away, that it is somehow less burdening, less heavy on the plates of equilibrium if some joy dribbled in.

But Theon couldn't see it like that: to him, sadness had always been heavier, drenched with all the tears, burdened by all the anguish, pressed together with the armors he put on to shield from it.

Joy was light, joy didn't make the dishes twitch.

It was not worth it...

... and yet he found himself thinking about Robb over and over, almost obsessively, and bleeding ink about him. Blue ink.

Robb, his Robb.

Robb who had hit him hard as the waves of the sea drowning a child, Robb who had shaken all his bones like a thunder hitting his marrow, Robb who had been more thirst-quenching to him than anyone else in the desert he had lived in.

Robb, never-been-his Robb.

He clenched his fist and returned to the roses. He glanced up at the ceiling, noticing some glass shaking under the burden of heavy rain, some iron bars making crinkled up shrieked noises, and he hoped them to resist a bit longer, so that the morning after he could have fixed them.

He caressed gently the petals, feeding the flowers, checking their earth.

“Theon...”

His fingers dropped the petal, slowly.

The air stung him through, it pierced his throat.

When Theon turned, he blinked more than once, unsure, as if his eyes couldn't decode him there.

Was he real? Was anything around real in that moment?

And anger came in waves, moving through joy. A smile turned in a grimace and then lifted again, once, twice, three times. His eyes fluttered, as he moved to look at the ground, leaving Robb's figure where it could hurt him less.

Theon tried to run away, to collect a thought, to grasp on a dream.

He clenched his fists, his voice coming out raucous but not unhappy. God, he hated to feel in his veins an undeniable happiness.

“Robb?”

Robb smiled, unable to stop and rushed to him, holding him tight, breathing his hair, smiling while squeezing Theon's body against his.

It took him a moment, and then it pierced his heart holed, as he noticed, parting, that Theon was not smiling.

He was looking at him exhausted.

Wounded.

Robb's smile didn't die, though, it just... tilted, twitched, lost its light. He glanced at Theon's eyes again, hoping, maybe, that he'd find in them some joy, but Theon refused stubbornly to look at him directly.

Theon licked his lips, sourly, “What did you come this far for?”

Robb's hands on his shoulders felt like home. Theon hated it.

He should have been strong enough to move away, to brush him off, and his mind gripped onto all the memories of those past months separated and how alone he felt and how he needed him and how loud, how gross people's words were.

How deep did it cut for Robb to leave him?

To him it felt like someone cut his heart out and filled that cavity with maggots.

And yet, right there, in front of him, as he lifted his eyes, unable not to look at him, his look softened. Somewhere, somehow, into him, did wish for him back and, as Robb kept him close to him, Theon could feel – his eyes tingled at the thought – he could feel Robb's warmth under his palms.

He could faintly smell his scent under the wetness drenching his clothes. He could perceive his breathe so close. And the blue of his eyes was raw and sweet as it had always been, as his mind could only vaguely remember and try to paint out, in desperate pain.

“I missed you .”, Robb whispered, sweetly.

Theon's voice turned to flint and needles, “Took you your sweet time. - he almost tried to move away but Robb held him tight and he bit back with spite – How is Jeyne? Had kids yet?”

“I asked for an annulment.”, Robb said, his hand now moving to Theon's hair.

Theon blinked, puzzled, unsure, lost, found.

His lips quivered and his voice flinched, “... I thought you couldn't divorce.”

“It is a bit different... - Robb admitted, looking down – I had to state I was lying in front of God at the time I wed her.”

Theon frowned, seemed to panic, “But that ... isn't it that really bad for you?”

He snorted, laughing, staring at Theon again with a big smile, “Are you worried for me?”

Theon blinked then seemed almost to pout, “Getting cocky, I see.”

Robb caressed his shoulders, tenderly, soothingly, his eyes mellow and warm, “I just said the truth.”

It seemed so weird to Theon the idea of someone declaring the truth, stating it , out loud, almost proudly, while he still hid while he had truth to be dragged out of him, pulled by the hair.

His hands rested on Robb's chest and he felt like embers returned to glow.

He cleared up his husky voice and took out a confident look, trying to at least gain some dignity, some power out of all of that, “I mean... this is really flattering but, if you did it for me, it was a bit... reckless, I mean, maybe I have this gardener stud waiting for me in the back who...”

Robb pushed against him, catching his mouth in his own and Theon welcomed him, in similar hasted, in symmetrical need, unable to deny.

Robb's taste, sweeter after the time, woke him up and ignited his heart back to beating. Theon felt himself smiling, wild and honest, into the kiss, taking him in and grabbing his neck closer.

Robb's hands went on Theon's hips, caressed him, voracious and vulgar, unable to be anything but impatient as finally he was having what he dreamt of in months; his hand slipped into Theon's jeans, gaining him a wicked smile.

“Glad to feel you missed me .”, Theon chuckled.

Robb lowered his head, then rested his forehead on Theon's shoulder.

“I'm sorry I left. - he admitted, as it burnt his tongue, as it cursed himself – I was a coward.”

Theon breathed in, “I think _jerk_ fits better.”

“Jerk works better, yes.”, Robb mumbled, not raising his head.

Theon smiled, glancing at him, “Asshole works too. - he swallowed – I haven't forgiven you yet, just to be clear.”

“I know. - Robb whispered, moving and kissing Theon's shoulder, softly, placing his lips drawing burning traces up Theon's neck, following the lines of his muscles – Just let me stick around.”

Theon glimpsed at Robb's full lips.

“You're lucky you're cute.”

Robb let out a brief, low, laugh near Theon's ear, then kissed the lobe gently.

“I love you... - he said, almost weakly – And I know it's hard to believe now, but...”

Theon moved away just enough to stare at Robb directly and pressed their lips together, forcing himself inside his mouth. Robb blinked, surprised, but soon closed his eyes, responding, this time letting Theon move the peace, letting him be the one to take those steps.

As he parted, breathless, with a shiny need in his dark eyes, “Me too.”

Robb blinked, incredulous, stuttered something out.

Theon breathed out, then glance around, “Davos...?”

“Ah, he said he would have gone to town for some hours to let us talk it out.”, Robb replied, looking around too, maybe more for a reflex than anything.

“How many hours?”

“With this rain probably not too many... - Robb thought out loud – Why?”

He met Theon's smoldering eyes, staring at him, one eyebrow up as to ask if he really didn't know.

“ _Oh_.”

“Yes. - Theon chuckled – Oh.”

 

*

 

I held

onto the fringes of

remembered light.

I adapted

eyes and heart to darkness.

 

And here, you came back,

to blind me,

all over again.

 

*

 

Rain did end up breaking the glass ceiling.

They barely heard it as it broke down and let water in, and it was their luck that it only drowned the flowers exactly under that one panel that fell, while the other resisted, sturdier in the night. And the cold breeze that entered, the scent of storm it brought, seemed just as sweet as a siren's charm.

They made love next to it and couldn't feel anything but the burning heat growing off each other.

The world, finally, silenced.

Theon fell asleep soon after, his sharp shoulder blades looking like closed wings of a bird that finally reached its nest. The sweat and come would sill stain his back and thighs, his cock resting soft, his breath now regular and gentle.

Robb stood up, putting on some jeans, walking towards the flowers.

In the corner of the glasshouse, a puddle of thick, stagnant water reeked of the sweetest earth.

In a pile of rotting, wet flowers, dethroned by the rain, that had broken their vases open, there were Theon's cigarettes too, extinguished, turned and twisted. And lemons, crowned by the droplets of the evening past squall and present tender dew, shone of a yellow so honest it seemed fake … some of them were also fallen, squished and their open juice bled inside the greenhouse.

Theon's breath, next to him, and the way his body moved slowly, with his spine riding the sleepy last trace of a dream, called him back.

Robb gave one last glance to the disaster of glass and petals.

He sighed, deeply, then moved to Theon and kissed his cheek, before moving to find something to clean with before Davos' return. He didn't want him to have to see the place with that mass and sure, he thought, it would have been hard to explain to him how they had sex next to all of that without not any impulse, intention nor decency to try to stop and be responsible.

They melted together, desperately. Stupidly, even.

With a happiness in finding each other again that made Robb almost not so sad anymore they lost so much time. A part of him, discovered a courage he could find only through pain... and he was happy he did, at the same time, he just wished, that in order to change, he hadn't ended up exposing Theon to that same pain.

_He, who gave you so much happiness, is everywhere; and He doesn’t unsettle the joy of his children, if not to prepare them a more certain and vast one._

Robb bent to collect the biggest chunks of glass, and, as he rose to his feet to find someplace to put them, he glanced outside, in the chestnut wood now bathing in the sweetest light, set ablaze by orange sunrays and the petrichor leaving space to the scent of wood and sea.

The light shattered softly, painting its reflection on the glass and the iron around them.

A whine, something similar to a husky moan and then Theon turned towards him, stretching and staring at Robb playing with a piece of broken glass.

And he thought he looked splendid, as the first day they met, when he blabbered, a bit awkward, as his wife introduced him as clumsy with DIY and he caught him staring for the first time.

“Hey...”

Robb turned, smiling, “You woke up.”

Theon smirked, with a flirty shade glimmering warm, “I owe you a read, I think...”

 


End file.
